


Cold As Iron

by SpicyReyes



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fell Winter, Gen, M/M, OP Hobbits, Repost of the original story since I abandoned it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 11:28:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7313407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyReyes/pseuds/SpicyReyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hobbits are feared throughout Middle Earth as powerful creatures - one in particular actually may be. Based on a tumblr prompt.</p><p>{Revival of the original story, since I abandoned it over a year ago}</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold As Iron

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: http://grimapparitions.tumblr.com/post/113028351811/hobbit-au-in-which-hobbits-are-feared-throughout
> 
> This is a revival of the original story. The original has since been deleted.

In the dark of the night on the coldest of winter days, a small figure - the size of a particularly short Dwarf or a child of Man - darted through a dense forest, cloak billowing as they scurried on their mission.

If anyone were nearby this forest, they might have noticed the basket clutched tightly in the figure's small hand, filled to the brim with herbs of all sorts.

For you see, this creature was on a mission. A mission for a great King, an old Wizard, and his own mother.

This creature - this Hobbit - is where our story begins.

 

In a hole in the ground, there lived a family of Hobbits.

Not a dirty, nasty hole, but a foreboding one all the same. For in this house, with these Hobbits, lay deep and terrible secrets.

Once upon a time, Hobbits were feared as the Lady Yavanna's sacred protectors of all things that grow. From animals to plants, a Hobbit could feel when something was treated poorly, and would react with vengeance. With the strength of a Man, the height of a Dwarf, and the grace of an Elf, these creatures were the closest link between the Earth and the Valar, above even the First Born, on par with the Maia.

As time past, Hobbits began to be hunted down. Their travelling ways had to be cut off, and they were forced to retreat to a small grassland, far from any cities or settlements, which they called the Shire, the Hobbitish word for a peaceful place. From here they spread rumors of the death of the Hobbits, of the extinction of the powerful race. Their powers grew dormant, and while they grew their gardens taller than any natural plant and could coax a flower to bloom in winter, they no longer felt the Earth as they once did.

All except one family: the Tooks.

 

Belladonna Took was a force of nature.

With a sword she'd stolen from a troll hoard and a cloak black as the night she frequently explored, she was feared throughout the Shire as the last who still followed the thoughts of the Wandering Days.

With rich caramel skin and soft ebony curls, her beauty won the hearts of many,  but her wit and will scared off all suitors but the one. The ever-determined Bungo Baggins, first son of the most respectable Hobbit family of the Shire and the least expected match for one such as our dear Belladonna, built a comfy home in the side of the tallest mountain with his own two hands and proposed to Bella within it.

Charmed beyond belief, she accepted, and they lived happily for ten whole years before giving birth to a Fauntling at last.

This fauntling they named Bilbo, but the shire dubbed him their doom.

 

Bilbo was an adventurous child, but rather than scolding him for his mischief, as a respectable Hobbit woman would, Belladonna took to training Bilbo in the Old Hobbit ways. She made him a wooden sword and trained him in weaponry. She taught him how hide, and how to run, and how to lift weight twice his own. Most of all, she taught him the ways of the Earth, how to take what it could give you and return what you could, and how to feel the life in things.

She taught him, and just like that, she was not the only Wanderer in the Shire.

 

The Hobbit running through the forest reached a clearing, sighing as he took in the sight of the hills. Basket full of green leaves and small blue flowers, Bilbo Baggins headed toward his home of Bag-End.

Only twenty, the responsibility fell upon his shoulders to create a potion for the biggest disaster in Shire history: a large outbreak of a deadly flu that was costing countless lives, with the cold of what they were calling Fell Winter poisoning the veins of every hobbit. If it weren't for his mother's thick cloak, Bilbo knew he'd have frozen out in the forest.

He headed to the large Hobbit hole in the center of the Shire, the Thain's home, where they set up a medical camp. "I need help," he called out as he entered, setting his basket down.

"I'm here, son," Bungo Baggins said, approaching. "What do you need?"

"Crush the cloves, please." Bilbo said, setting said plant before his father. "Where is mother?"  
"I'm here," Belladonna called. "Did you get-...?"

Bilbo cut her off by thrusting a handful of peppermint leaves at her, which she took with a grateful nod.

"That just leaves the Rosemary," Bilbo muttered to himself, fishing it out of the basket. "And - are there any lemons in the pantry?"

"Several," Bungo confirmed. "I'll send some of the children to collect them."

"Good," Bilbo said. "This will be ready for dispersal in no time."

Bungo sat a hand on his son's shoulder.  "I'm proud of you, son."

"Thank you," Bilbo returned. "But I'm just trying to help."

"Exactly."

 

As Bilbo headed out into the forest for his next load of herbs, he had no way of knowing that would be the last conversation he'd have with his father.

 

 

It started with howling.

A dreadful noise, rolling up the hill to where Bilbo was picking Bergamots, alerting him that something was going on below.

He immediately stood, racing back down the hill, images of his parents flashing through his head - but it was too late.

He arrived at the bottom of the hill to devastation.

Hobbits were screaming, running from large, vicious looking wolves.

Rabid, Bilbo thought with panic. Even a bite could kill you.

He had no cure for rabies.

Powerless to stop the hell around him, he headed for the center, seeking out his parents.

He found his mother fighting with her stolen sword, Sting, cutting down wolf after wolf, tears streaming down her face.

"Mum!" Bilbo called. "Mother!"

"Bilbo!" She cried back. "Run, dear. It's not safe here!"

"I won't leave you!" He cried. "Where is dad?!"  
She looked at him with such grief, and Bilbo's heart dropped.

His father was dead.

 

The rampage of the wolves went on for four nights.

By the end, more Hobbits were dead than alive and those who still breathed often wished they didn't.

The latter group including one Belladonna Baggins.

As the ice melted and the wolves retreated, so did Bella, folding in on herself and going quiet. It took every potion Bilbo could mix to keep her going enough to eat. Bergamot oranges, known for their ability to raise spirits, were all she could eat, and even then she remained depressed.

After a week, Bilbo had to accept the truth: Belladonna was Fading.

Back in the Wandering Days, Hobbits believed in Soulmates - a single soul with which yours resonated completely. They could be friends, siblings, lovers, or any other type of partner. They made you whole - but when they died, so did your heart.

After that, the Hobbit left behind would go through what the Elves called the Fade, where their body slowly lost its ability to hold the broken soul inside it.

As Hobbits moved on from the Old Hobbit ways, Soulmates were abandoned as a myth and the Fade rarely took place. For Belladonna and Bilbo, however, Soulmates were a real thing...and a real risk.

Bungo was Belladonna's Soulmate, and now she was going to die without him.

 

By the Fall, Bilbo Baggins had lost both his parents and become the Lord of Bag End and all properties his father had owned, as well as the vast wealth his landlord and carpenter of a father had accumulated.  

Nasty rumors began to spread as years went by, that Mad Baggins of Bag End was a witch who killed his parents and cursed the Shire to be ravaged by wolves, and a number of other cruel things by jealous old Hobbit women. Bilbo became a recluse, hiding in Bag End and only venturing out when someone needed a potion for some reason or another. Thirty years passed this way, with Bilbo staying only to himself, slowly abandoning the Old Ways for books and quiet and security, until one day, at the ripe age of 50, a visitor knocked on his door.

 

Thorin Oakenshield had been searching for Hobbits for nearly eighty years.

He'd grown up on stories of the creatures, with large feet and sharp eyes and a quick wit, with the ability to fly or eat a man whole or a number of other wicked feats.

He wanted one on his quest.

You see, Thorin's home, Erebor, had been claimed by a dragon, some years back. Thorin, as Prince of Erebor, felt responsible for getting his people back to safety, instead of wandering around like the Hobbits of the tales. So, he worked where he could, listening to rumors and stories and researching lore, trying to find what really happened to the Hobbits.

What he found was interesting.

There were rumors of a Hobbit descendant who traded with merchants, meeting them in a dark forest and paying them hefty sums to keep quiet. For all the gold Thorin earned in a week, they were willing to give up the location of this forest.

From there, Thorin searched, until he came upon a clearing.

Across this clearing, he saw the oddest thing: little creatures, shaped like Men except the ears, which were Elvish, and the feet, which were massive.

He'd found Hobbits.

 

He climbed down the hill, entering the grassland, watching as the Hobbits' eyes widened and they ran away, ducking under things and hiding in these little homes tucked away under hillsides.

He made it several feet into the area before he was confronted by one.

"What in the name of the Green Lady is a dwarf doing here?" An old-looking Hobbit man asked. "I am Isengrim Took, Thain of the Shire. You are an intruder. How did you find this place?"  
"I paid a Man to tell me of a merchant," Thorin admitted. "But I will not reveal which Man."

"Loyalty to a stranger is admirable," Isengrim told him. "But misplaced. Hobbits are not cruel. He would not be harmed."

"I need a Hobbit," Thorin said. "One like in the stories."

Isengrim laughed. "You will have a hard time. Hobbits have long since abandoned the Old Ways. No, we much prefer our books and good food."

Thorin frowned, heart sinking. "Is there no one still fierce as the fables tell?"  
"Well," Isengrim said. "There is my nephew."

 

The mark on the door, Isengrim had told him, was the sign of a Hobbitish apothecary. A witch, they call him, Isengrim had said. They said the same of my sister. It didn't stop them from seeking her help during the Fell Winter. He hadn't explained what the Fell Winter was, but it carried the same tone that dwarves used when they said Smaug.

With a shaky hand, mind reeling with what sort of creature sat behind this large green door, Thorin knocked.

 

 

 

The creature before Thorin looked...sick.

There were dark rings under his eyes and somehow malnourished look despite the roundness of his face could give him no other look other than that of one who was a breath from death.

"Master Baggins?" Thorin questioned.

"You're a dwarf," Bilbo murmured. "I suppose you're ill?:

"Pardon?" Thorin asked.

"Well, if you came this far just to find me, you must be needing my services." He squinted. "If you're not ill, then what? Is someone you know? Or do you want witchwork? Love spells are not real, you know. Potions, on the other hand..."

This is a peculiar creature, Thorin thought, watching the Hobbit ramble. "I need an adventurer."

The Hobbit cut off abruptly, blinking. "Oh no! No, no, no. No adventures. My mother's sword has not been touched in years. Hobbits don't just leave the Shire, Master Dwarf. Especially not a Baggins."

"They called you a Took," Thorin said. "They sounded like that was -..."  
"A curse?" Master Baggins filled in, which was quite the opposite of what Thorin was going to say. "They would, wouldn't they? Well, let them. I won't come with you on your adventure, but if you need some herbs for the road, I would love to provide them." He gave a small, decisive no. "That is all I can do. I'm sorry."

Thorin's stomach flipped nervously. Had this trip really been a waste? "But...Hobbits are fabled as great protectors of Earth."

The Hobbit frowned. "We are. Well, we were. Only a handful still believe in listening to the Earth's voice."

"Well, listen now," Thorin begged. "Don't you hear the pain? Dwarves were run from their home by a dragon. Surely that resonates somewhere?"

Baggins sighed. "I'm sorry. But I can't. It's too far away. I haven't listened that well in years." He looked up to Thorin with sad, aged eyes. "Come back some other day. Bring all those you are taking on your journey. I'll give you all salves and potions for the road. That's all I can promise."

With that and a quiet "Good morning," Master Baggins closed the door.

  
  


Two months after that encounter, when Bilbo had all but forgotten about it, the hobbit was sitting down for dinner when a knock on the door echoed through his smial.

Bilbo stood, going to answer his door. When he did, he found a stout, bald dwarf with terrifying tattoos staring him down. "Hello?" he greeted.

"So he was telling the truth," the dwarf guffawed. "A hobbit!"

Bilbo's nose twitched with irritation. "Yes, I am a hobbit. You're in the land of them, I suggest you remember."

"Oh, of course," the dwarf said, before sweeping into a bow. "Dwalin, at your service."

"Bilbo Baggins, at yours and your family's," he returned, fastening his dressing gown.

Dwalin stepped in then, and Bilbo moved aside to allow him entry. "Where do I-..oh, there." He hung up his cloak on one of the hooks by the door. "Well, where is it?"  
"Where's what?"

"Dinner. He said there'd be food."

"Who said?" Bilbo murmured to himself, trying to remember who he'd invited to his smial recently. "Oh, right this way." And he showed Dwalin to his dining room, where the dwarf helped himself to Bilbo's fish.

Right as Bilbo was about to head to the pantry to get something for himself to eat, another knock sounded.

"Blast," Bilbo muttered, and a few choice words in Hobbitish for good measure, as he went to answer the door.

This process repeated many times - first Balin, who commented on the rain; then Fili and Kili, who stared in awe and bungled his name, respectively; then Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur, who fell on top of him; then Dori, Nori, and Ori; and finally Gloin and Oin, the latter of which immediately asked to be shown Hobbitish healing, which had Bilbo stammering out an accidental 'yes,' only to receive a hug - an actual hug - from Gloin.

Now all the dwarves sat in his dining room, loudly conversing and having a joyous time.

One more knock resounded outside, and Bilbo fumed. “No! No more dwarves! My smial is full as it is!”

But when he opened the door, he ate his words.

There, at the door, stood the wizard Gandalf the Grey, and the dwarf from two months ago.


End file.
